Brought Back
by StarCrossdSparrow
Summary: Not so far into the Future Fic. Completely from Logan's POV. What happens when his past finds him? LoganVeronica. Rated M for smut.


Title: Brought Back  
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica  
Rating: NC-17  
Chapter: 1/1  
Word Count: 6,869  
Disclaimer: Rob Thomas is lord of the _Mars_iverse. I promise the dust everyone off and replace them when I'm done, so put the lawyers away.  
Spoilers: Specifics through 1.12, "Clash of the Tritons" and the generalities of season three.  
Summary: Not-so-distant Future Fic entirely from Logan's point of view. Oh, and Veronica shows up.  
Author's Note: As ever, gratitude to my gracious beta, erin2326. And, as sort of a personal disclaimer, this is something (almost) entirely new for me. So, please, poke and prod it and make me a better writer with some of that savory concrit.

XxX

I wasn't home the day she came looking for me.

No, I was out being a productive member of society. I worked hard at not working hard at the a university in NorCal. I'm a masters candidate in social work, (I know, of all things, surprise, surprise! I chose to pursue social work) and the coursework and my responsibilities to my own students comes pretty easily.

Yeah, I'm a teacher, too. Well, I only TA for a class on human behavior in the social environment. Which, hell, how hard is _that_? Look around you. See society. See society fuck people up. Bad society!

Still, sometimes it was trying to get fifteen twenty-year-olds to listen to you on a late spring day, even when there were only two weeks until finals. Not that they were rowdy, not like the way I imagined a real teaching environment with actual children. They were just distracted by the sight of the warm California sun, hemlines that had begun to creep higher, and end-of-the-year partying. Hell, as a guy only five years their senior, I was distracted, too. But I did want them all to pass their finals so I'd recognize a few people the following semester.

So it was after a particularly disheartening attempt to review the problems with the ecological perspective of human behavior that I dragged myself home only to find a hand-lettered note stuck to my apartment door. It was a small square of paper, and the author hadn't even bothered to fold it or shove it under the door. Whoever had written it just wedged it under the brushed nickel number '4' on my door, like UPS does when they've missed you. Impersonal, practical, and slightly annoying. I didn't need all of my neighbors knowing everything about me.

Not that twenty two words really bared my soul to cranky Mr. Breck who lived down the hall in 6 or the Lucas', the married couple who lived across the hall in 5. But, on principle, I was agitated.

_Logan,_

_Meet me at the coffee shop on the corner when you get home.  
__It's urgent.  
__You still have the number._

_Veronica_

I crumpled the note as I shoved my key into the lock. I hadn't seen Veronica since the day I'd surreptitiously watched her walk across the stage at her departmental graduation. I hadn't even attended my own, let alone the one for the entire class of 2010. But I did watch her walk. She'd looked beautiful in a cerulean sun dress; I'd imagined that her eyes would have sparkled on top of all that blue. Of course, I never got close enough to see. I left for London that very afternoon. I didn't even see my own diploma until it was forwarded to the small flat I rented in Canary Wharf.

And here she came crashing back into my peaceful life like the proverbial bull. I suppose it was my fault for letting my guard down and becoming the fragile China shop. I unwrinkled the note, smoothing it until it was hard to tell I'd ever crushed it in my fist. She assumed I still had her number even four years later? How pathetic did she think I was?

I still did, though. I'd gone through two different service providers and five new phones since we'd broken up the final time. Each time, I'd gone through my old address book, editing those names and numbers that were unfamiliar out, keeping just the basics. Veronica always ended up on that shortlist, even if I never dialed her.

I hadn't deleted her, despite the fact that almost every girl I'd dated in the intervening years always asked me about the name in my phone book; despite my best efforts at dodging, 'an old friend' always came across sounding like 'the one that got away.' Sometimes that led to an argument that ripped my old wounds open, and most times the girl left me, pissed at an imagined love affair with a ghost of my past.

I recovered every time, swearing that the next time, it would be different, that I'd just _get over her_. People did it all the time, every day. You always get over _her_ in the end, right? Hell, it's human nature to move on. A necessary evil to propagate the species.

I scrubbed my hands over my eyes and turned toward the door I'd just come through. I'd meet with Veronica at the café. Maybe I'd finally be able to delete her from my phone and from my life if I saw her once more. Maybe she'd have a ring on her finger, a baby on her hip (my eye twitched at the thought of her with another man's baby, but that's normal, right?), some great story about moving to Tibet to become a Tantric Buddhist... something to help me let go.

The walk to the coffee shop only took a few minutes. Still, when I opened the door, I felt time slow to a near-stop. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear the Earth tilted on its axis when I met her eyes across the crowded and noisy shop, causing everything around us to grind to a halt. My imagination and my inclination to make everything grander than it really was caused the unnatural slowing I'm sure, because as soon as I recognized it, the world caught up and everything was back to the correct speed.

Except that I'd locked eyes with Veronica Mars and I felt my heart leap into my throat.

I swallowed hard and weaved my way between patrons and high tables with matching stools. It was close to finals in a college town and the barristas were working overtime. The whirs, crackles, and sizzles of coffee and steaming milk were a comforting undertone to the chatter. The scent of freshly brewed java also served as a distraction from the blue eyes trying to cut me to the quick as I drew nearer to her small booth.

"Logan." She greeted me warmly, but did not stand. I don't know why I thought she would have a hug for an old friend, but I did. I sat without invitation. Veronica had four mugs in front of her, as well as one plate covered in chocolaty crumbs.

"Been waiting long?" I inquired.

"About an hour. I was thirsty."

"And hungry?"

"Always."

I met her gaze directly over the last word, but didn't say anything.

"You look well," she began, sipping a latte from a full cup.

"Let's dispense with the small talk, shall we?" I felt my hand in my hair before I realized I was doing it. I pulled it away; I hadn't retreated to that nervous habit in years. Damn her.

Veronica didn't bother looking stricken or annoyed, not that I expected her to. She just soldiered on as I'd requested. "I wanted to be the one to tell you."

Here it was. She was getting married... or maybe running off to Tibet. I was sort of hoping for Tibet.

Instead of flashing an polar ice cap sized diamond or whipping off her blonde hair to reveal a shaved pate, she produced a manila file folder, sliding it across to me. "Logan, it's your mother."

I sat back against the creaky vinyl, my palms braced against the mahogany table between us. "What?" I asked, my voice coming out in a feeble sort of croak. My mother? My mother who'd taken the low road out of Dodge almost, what was it? Eight years ago?

Veronica nodded, never dropping her gaze from mine. "I'm sorry. The story is probably breaking right now. I just wanted to tell you before..." she trailed off and glanced up at the television above the coffee counter. The volume was muted, but when I followed her sight line, I could see the split screen of a twenty-four-hour cable news channel. On the left, an overly styled brunette was looking grim but interested. On the right was an aerial view of a wide expanse of blue with a curved bridge cutting across it. The Coronado Bridge over San Diego Bay. The caption read: _Lynn Echolls' Body Recovered_. I choked out a gasp.

When I turned back to Veronica, I saw pity on her face. My heart fell from my throat to the pit of my stomach. Lynn Echolls' body. My _mother's_ body. My mom's _body._

I flipped the file open. A photograph of four wooden poles sticking up from water was on top. There were white markings and numbers written all over the dark teal of the water. I made to move it and look at the next, but Veronica's voice stayed me.

"They're pretty bad, Logan. I... when I took them, I didn't even know who it was."

I flipped to the next photograph. In one corner, a handwritten card read _UNID bones. 10 Apr 2015. Bay 32° / 42' / 54" N 117° / 9' / 45"W 09:27 AM. _The printing matched what was scribbled on the crumpled paper hastily stuffed into my back pocket. Veronica's hand. In the center of the photograph was a collection of bones, fully articulated on top of a blue tarp.

"The anthro team reassembled the remains on-site," Veronica stopped abruptly when I lifted my gaze. My vibrant, beautiful mother was now reduced to remains. "I didn't even know."

I shook my head. "How could you have known?"

The rest of the photographs were similar, all different shots of the site and of my mother's... remains. I felt weary, the sort of penetrating tired that goes beyond a need for sleep. I let my eyes fall closed on the world before I asked, "What happened?" I opened my eyes when Veronica cleared her throat.

The pity was gone from her eyes, and suddenly, she was all business. "Do you remember the _Star of India_?"

I nodded. The ship was a museum docked in the bay. Our seventh grade teacher, Mr.Malloy, had really been into maritime history, so he'd taken our class on a field trip to it. It hadn't impressed me much, but that was neither here nor there. I waited for her to continue.

"Well, over the last few years, the ship hasn't sailed in the open ocean. For publicity, the museum trust wanted to see her sail to Hawaii and in turn, a replica of the _USS Arizona_ was going to sail from Hawaii. They'd been readying the ships so that they could pass one another on December 7 this year. Well, they took the_ Star _out for a test run and while it was gone, they were going to rebuild the dock to accommodate all the new visitors. When they began to disassemble the dock, they cordoned off the area with a small lock and lowered the water table so they could get a crane out into the water."

When she paused, I jumped in, "And they found something more than just fish guts?"

Veronica winced at my tone. I hadn't even meant to sound so harsh. I wasn't sure if she brought it out of me or if it was the thought of strangers finding my mother under a floating museum. I guess it didn't matter.

"Basically," she answered. "They ran a marrow analysis against the database. And since her DNA was on file from the annual blood drive with the sheriff's department she'd helped to found, she was a match." She met my gaze directly. "As soon as I knew, I copied the photos and drove up here."

"How'd you know where to find me," I asked. As she opened her mouth to respond, I held up a hand to stop her. "Never mind. I suppose I should be flattered that you knew where to find me at a moment's notice." I dropped my eyes down to the lacquered table top, and concentrated on the striated pattern of what I suspected was real wood underneath the layers of stain and sealant.

"Logan?"

Veronica's whisper was hoarse, as though she hadn't just spent the past ten minutes prattling on like a true cop. She sounded like her old self in that moment, her _old _self. The girl who used to follow Lilly Kane (God! I haven't thought of her in months!) around like votary, the girl who used to blush when she got caught watching me or Duncan (I haven't thought of him for an even longer time) shirtless. She sounded a little afraid. That caught my attention, and I looked back up at her, expectant.

She met my eyes. "Are you okay?"

I snorted. "Okay? Am I _okay_?Hell, Veronica, you just pushed your way back into my life to tell me that my mom's dead all over again! It's like you brought all of fucking Neptune up here with you. I came here to escape that chaos." I felt eyes on me and I knew I was attracting the attention of the other customers. I deliberately took a breath and lowered my voice. "I'm _not_ even fucking close to okay. Would you be?"

Veronica looked away and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Logan."

I returned my gaze to the tabletop, willing her to leave. I couldn't order her to go, and the thought of returning to my empty apartment sickened me. Of course, all the wishing in the world wouldn't make her disappear.

"Can I take you back to your place?"

I snorted. "I remember where I left it, thanks." I looked up at her. "What? You want to follow me home to put me on suicide watch?" When she didn't respond, I assumed that I was correct. "I'm not the same guy, Ronnie. I'll just be drinking myself into oblivion until my class on Thursday. Besides, it's too far to drive for suicide to be poetic, and I just got a great parking space outside my building." I laughed darkly at my own joke.

Veronica didn't join in. Rather, she stood and began to collect her bag. "Come on. A least let me walk you."

"Carry my books, too?" I simpered girlishly, standing to follow her despite myself.

I walked the block right next to her, but I wasn't with her. I was back on the Coronado Bridge. I remembered the way the cross breeze kept trying to help my make the final choice. Mother Nature wanted to help me tumble into her embrace for good, and God knows I wanted to go. And who took it away from me, who saved me? A fucking motorcycle gang. Only me.

I must have laughed out loud because I felt Veronica's eyes on me as I turned the key in the lock. I ignored her stare, waving my hand to indicate that she enter first. She did so, seemingly without hesitation, and headed straight for the grey-green chenille sofa, taking a seat against the pillows and a rumpled afghan. She looked perfectly at home amongst my things and that disturbed me. I shifted my weight from foot to foot as I stood behind an armchair.

When I noticed her foot tapping against the low coffee table and her hands questing for something to fidget, I relaxed. Her calm exterior was nothing more than that.

"Coffee?" I offered, inclining my head toward her. "Decaf, perhaps?"

Her lips quirked into a smile and I felt it all the way to the pit of my belly. I remembered the old feeling of pleasure I used to get when I could coax a smile from her, especially when tension was hanging thick and cloying in the air.

"That's probably a good idea."

I turned away, concentrating fully on brewing a pot of coffee. Walking through the familiar steps of measuring grinds, adding water, and turning the pot on eased my frayed nerves a little more. I could get through this little visit. What bothered me the most was that I wasn't sure if I was more thrown off by the news of my mom or Veronica's mere presence. It worried me that it was the latter.

As soon as the coffee was dripping, I walked back into the living room. Veronica was standing before the fireplace, inspecting a photograph on the mantle. It was a clipping from the college press. In the photo, I was standing before a class I'd taken out onto the lawn, gesticulating about something. The caption read_ Goodbye summer: Last class on the quad. _It was probably vain to have framed it, but for someone who has so few mementos, it seemed like a good place to start. And as an added bonus, I had my picture in a newspaper, and I wasn't even accused of anything. I had to keep it for posterity.

I walked up behind her. "Playing Where's Waldo?"

She started at the sound of my voice. I smirked. Whatever she'd been up to, she'd certainly lost her edge.

"Are you a professor?" she asked, moving back toward the sofa.

Her question was laden with so much surprise, I laughed involuntarily. "No. Just a humble TA." I sat in the facing armchair and fixed her with a level gaze. "Should I be offended that you didn't know that?"

She dipped her head in some semblance of contrition. "I knew you were a grad student. It's not like I stalk you, I just..." she met my eyes and shrugged. "Keep track."

"Well, for the spy-gadget impaired, what have you been doing for the last five years? Bust up any puppy smuggling rings lately? How's the mistress business?" I kept my tone deliberately light, but my interest was genuine. I'd thought of her a lot. More than a lot. I hated myself a little for how often she was still on my mind after so long.

"I'm an forensic photographer for the San Diego PD. I'm just an assistant, but since the mid city captain used to work with my dad, I get to see a lot of cases that a lot of people in my position normally wouldn't." She shrugged again, shifting her gaze away from his. "Holiday pay, no stake outs. I'm on call almost twenty-four seven, but it's a pretty sweet gig."

I lifted an eyebrow. "You're bored out of your mind aren't you?"

She chuckled, and once more I felt a familiar twinge of nostalgia for the good times we'd had.

"Yes, very. Being part of a forensic unit always looked so glamorous on TV," she added the last part teasingly, but I could hear the truth around the edges.

I nodded, glancing back toward the door to the kitchen. "Coffee's probably ready."

She returned my nod, but I wasn't eager to get up. I was afraid that standing up would break the tenuous ease between us.

I felt her gaze intensify. "Logan, I know you probably don't want to, but you should come down to San Diego and get her."

My mom. Right. That's what this was all about. How had I almost forgotten? I felt guilty for dropping the subject so quickly and becoming consumed with Veronica.

"No, you're right. I should have her interred where her headstone is." I dropped my gaze to my lap. "That makes it real, doesn't it? Burying someone?" My questions didn't require answers, and I was grateful that Veronica didn't try to supply any.

I slumped back into the armchair, weary once again. "I believed she was gone, you know. I wasn't holding onto any weird false hope like I did... then." I met her eyes, and she nodded. "I just... I mean, it was never really all the way over. 99.99 percent of me said it was, but then that one stupid ass one hundredth of a percent..." I trailed off with another shrug.

Veronica didn't jump in, so I continued. "You know how when you get to a certain age, you realize Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny don't exist?" I didn't wait for her answer; I didn't expect one. "Well, it's stupid, but I always kind of hoped that one day, if I survive my own fucked up childhood and made it to have kids of my own, Santa would show up and lay it all out there, like he is real and he'd be showing up with Red Rider BB guns and rocking horses come Christmas morning." I laughed mirthlessly. "It's stupid, I know. But that's how I imagined it. Well, there was also this little bit of me that thought that maybe, just maybe, if I straightened up, she'd just show up." I rubbed my forehead. I knew I was rambling, but it felt nice to talk to someone who _knew._

I felt her hand on mine. I looked down and was stricken by how small and delicate and white it looked over my own. I was also shocked that she didn't immediately pull away.

"Logan," she began. I looked up at her; she was smiling. "You've always been such a-"

"Pussy?" I cut her off to supply.

Her smiled deepened almost imperceptibly. "I was going to say 'a romantic.'"

I shrugged. "Potato, potahto." I was suddenly hyper-aware of her. The way her palm was warm and little damp on mine, the way the tendons in her neck corded then relaxed like she was trying to come up with something to say, but kept choking it back, the way the subtle scent of honeysuckle seemed to emanate from her when she shifted on the cushions.

Before I could process it, she was occupying the same space I was, breathing in the same air. At least, that's the only way I could explain my sudden want for available oxygen, and the way my lungs labored to gulp it down.

Her hands cupped my cheeks and she searched my eyes, as if asking permission. I didn't deny her whatever she was asking for, so she breached the distance between us and laid a light kiss on the corner of my mouth. Even prepared for the soft brush of her lips, my body reacted fiercely to her. I pulled her close, returning her tender kisses. I hardly noticed her slight weight across my lap, but I felt every place her body touched mine intensely.

Her unintentional (or was it?) shifting caused me to groan, and the sound of my own voice brought me back. I grasped her arms and pulled away. "Veronica, you don't-"

She smiled at me, "I do." She pressed forward and laid a kiss on my temple. It was so whisper-light, I couldn't (didn't want to) pull away again. Her kisses meandered down my cheek and across my jaw, eventually recapturing my lips. They were still soft but were rapidly becoming ever more insistent. When I felt her tongue tease the seam of my lips, all of my doubts fell away and soon her tongue was tangling with mine, slick and reassuring. I let her comfort me the best way she knew how.

I let my body take over and started peppering kisses along her jawline and down along the tendons of her throat. I paused to suckle the spot below her right ear and was instantly rewarded with a low moan. She hadn't changed much in five years, after all. I smiled against her skin, reveling in that sweet honeysuckle fragrance (her shampoo? her perfume? her?) and the way her fingertips dragged through my rumpled hair.

Suddenly, she was pushing me away and I was startled by the cool air-conditioned air that filled the negative space between us. I looked up to question her, but was stilled by the heat in her eyes. The room felt warm again, but goosebumps raised on my flesh anyway.

Understanding flickered between us. It was unspoken, and though I wasn't quite sure what the agreement entailed, I picked up on the highlights. She reached for the buttons of my shirt, but I grasped her hands to stop her. She met my eyes, looking a little confused and let down, as though our silent contract was suddenly nullified. I smiled at her.

"Not here."

She blinked. I gathered her close and lifted her easily as I stood. She automatically wrapped her legs around my hips. The familiarity of the action, as well as the sudden friction caused me to groan and she smiled at me.

She leaned forward to suckle at my throat. She did it so suddenly that we overbalanced, and I crashed into the hallway wall; the exquisite torture of her cradled against my hips, her ass filling my palms, and her kisses along my throat distracted me from any pain I might have otherwise felt. Her quiet, throaty laughter helped, too.

With a grin, I regained control over her lips and over my weak knees. I shoved away from the wall and carried her into my bedroom. I laid her down on the antique sleigh bed I'd had shipped from London, across fine linens that I couldn't resist purchasing in India. Amidst all the luxury, she made the place look more beautiful than a team of professional decorators ever could.

Her eyes sparkled with something new, something that the college Veronica hadn't had or had never let me see. I grinned down at her, lingering over the mischievous glint and the blush on her cheeks. I couldn't tell if the color came from exertion or from nerves. I certainly felt a little of both. Five years was a long time to spend fantasizing about the same girl, and I was afraid I might disappoint her.

Finally, she laughed, a little breathless and uneven. "If you don't stop studying me and join me down here..." She didn't have to finish her threat because I laid down next to her and rolled her on top of me, pulling her mouth back to mine.

Her kisses were getting hotter, telling more of what was yet to come. I tried to temper it as best I could; it was an exercise in futility because nothing between us had ever been cool. It was always angry, sparking electric tension or passionate, all-consuming lust. But, for her sake, I pushed her away once more.

I met her flashing eyes with a smirk. "Patience, my dear. Slow and steady wins the race."

"Screw slow and steady," she growled back, pulling me down to her by my shirtfront.

"Screwing? Now why haven't I thought of that?" I grinned and slid my hands under her blouse. She threw her head back against my pillows and arched into my almost-chaste touch. I pushed her shirt up and she reached down to remove it. She was so hasty that as it went over her head, a few buttons came free of the thin cotton. She laughed at her own exuberance and tossed the garment away.

I joined her laugh, but sobered at the sight of her bra. She looked much the same, save for an uneven scar that puckered her skin along the bottom of her ribcage on her left side. I ran a finger over the white mark and looked at her questioningly.

She smiled almost shyly. "You should see the other guy."

I nodded, deciding that scars were not tempting pillow talk. After all, I had more than I could count, and she rarely made an issue out them. I replaced my fingers with my lips, kissing the scar as if to heal it. I glanced up at her sigh, glorying in the sight of her watching me. In the past, she'd always closed her eyes.

I remapped her flat stomach with kisses, pausing here and there to test old waters with a nibble or a nip. More often than not, she writhed or moaned in appreciation. I crept higher, passing over her breasts to kiss her collarbones and throat. Her hands were on my shoulders, and the light press of her palms told me what she wanted. I continued to deny her and kept exploring with my lips.

Finally, I sat up to unbutton her jeans. She smiled wide and lifted her hips to let me snake the material over her pale thighs. But, to her obvious chagrin, I left her panties on and continued my exploration, letting my palms rove over her bare flesh.

She pushed my hands away and forced me to meet her gaze. I laughed. "Are you in such a hurry because you want me, or are you afraid you're going to lose your nerve?"

She dropped her eyes and I knew the answer. I chucked her chin up and we made eye contact once more. "I won't let you," I said, smiling tenderly at her.

She made a small sound in the back of her throat and pulled me close, wrapping her arms across my back. I kissed her throat and reached around to unhook her bra. She stopped me and pushed my hands away once more. I rolled over onto my back and folded my arms behind my head, my eyebrows quirked into a question.

She grinned down at me and threw her leg across my hips. "Slow and steady, huh?" she breathed as she began to undo the buttons on my shirt. "How is it that you still have so many clothes on?" she queried, dropping her lips to kiss the skin she was baring button by button.

"Unlucky, I guess," I teased. I frowned down at her blonde head as she descended south; having the tables turned on me was probably not going to work out in Veronica's favor. When she'd opened my shirt, she tugged me up to a sitting position. As soon as I'd shed it, I reached around and unhooked her bra.

She sighed and let her head fall against my shoulder. I kissed the top of her head and laid her back against the pillows once more. Before she could protest, I dropped my head to lave one nipple and rolled the other between my fingers. Her leg was between mine and she rubbed her self against me. I was suddenly glad to still have the denim barrier between us. Much more of her arching and writhing beneath me, this reunion was going to be a quick one, indeed.

The scent of her arousal was so thick in the air, I could almost taste her need. I bit back a groan of my own and let my fingers walk down her ribcage and slip into her panties. The thatch of curls that used to tickle my fingers was narrowed into a small strip, but her slippery folds were exactly as I remembered.

She mewled beneath me as I skirted her clit with a pass of my thumb. I cupped her fully in my palm and she ground down against my hand, biting off a sharp "Please." I obliged her, willingly dipping one finger into her. She lifted her hips off of the bed to meet me, and I laid a hand across her pelvis to hold her back a bit. Things weren't going as slowly as I'd planned, but I should have known to expect that. She was as unstoppable as ever, and apparently I still couldn't deny anything she wanted.

I watched her face, noting the way her mouth made a perfect O when I pushed deeper. I added a second digit and increased the tempo of my strokes and she tossed her gold locks against the navy blue linen. I beckoned and felt the thrill of her intimate musculature as it clamped against my fingers. I eased up with my other hand and bent lower to blow hot breath across her abdomen. The effect was immediate and she surged down against my hand. When I dropped my lips to kiss the tender skin at the bottom of her belly, she moaned. I thumbed her clit and delighted in the way she fisted her hand in my hair.

I moved lower, heady with the thrill of her response. Never decreasing the tempo I'd begun with my fingers, I dropped my mouth to her, licking and sucking at the sensitive knot of nerves at the apex of her thighs. At the wet contact of my tongue, I felt her go taut beneath me. I grinned and continued my dual assault, increasing the pace to a near frenzy.

Her tight interior tensed and I looked up, never ceasing the friction I'd begun with my lips, teeth, and tongue. Her head was tossed back and she had one hand to her mouth and the other was tugging on her dusky nipples. The sight was glorious and I groaned against her. She kept whispering something against her hand. When I finally picked out my name, I was unsure of what I heard. She never said my name in the past, never made that kind of claim.

She caught my stare and reached down to grip my shoulders. "Now, Logan, please, God, now." Her command was given breathlessly, but I knew it brokered no argument. I stood, almost reluctant to leave her, but was rewarded when she continued my work, stripping her damp panties completely off and sliding her hand to her wet cleft and squeezing her thighs closed around it.

I groaned again, frantically tugging at my pants and socks. I jumped on one foot, simultaneously pulling the last bit of clothing from my body and scrabbling through my nightstand for a condom. Seizing one, I tore at the foil with my teeth and discarded the package over my shoulder.

I knelt on the bed, sliding into the slick latex. Veronica looked up at me, her brilliant blues watered down with lust and her pupils dilated and black. She smiled and pulled herself up the bed to rest her back against the pillows. She beckoned, batting her eyes kittenishly.

"You're going to kill me, Veronica," I managed, kneeling between her legs. The instant her warm inner thigh brushed my hip, my cock jumped.

She wrapped her small hand around me. "Slow and steady?" she asked with a husky laugh.

I leaned down onto my hands, unable to support myself any longer. "I doubt it," I growled. I laid my hand on her cheek and smoothed her hair away from her forehead. "This won't-" I began.

"It will," Veronica cut across me. She pulled herself closer until I felt my hard length at her opening. I swallowed hard. She wrapped her legs around my waist and urged me closer.

My elbows and knees were shaking from the exertion of holding back, so I just let myself collapse into her. With one hard push, I was a part of her again.

She'd been incredible five years ago, sweet and pliant. Now, she was just as tight around me, but there was a new urgency in the way she moved against me. I groaned into her hair, and knotted my fingers into her curls, trying to concentrate on something other than the intimate press of our bodies.

When she began rocking herself against me, using my own dark curls as friction against her vulnerable clit, it was all I could not to come right then. I slid in an out of her with nearly excruciating slowness and felt every point of contact between our bodies with heightened sensitivity. The tight peaks of her small breasts against my hard chest, her pelvic bones touching my thighs with every deep thrust, her sweet essence running down my legs. I was so caught up in the sensation of our bodies connecting, I barely heard her begin whispering in my ear.

"Please, Logan. All of you. I want all of you." Her breathy whispers shook me to my core. This was another thing the old Veronica didn't do; her conversational skills were usually reduced to quiet moans and whimpers, never words.

"Now, Logan, now." Her pleas were becoming frantic and I felt her quicken beneath me.

"Baby, Veronica, I..." I pleaded with her with my eyes. I hoped she accepted my apology.

She cut me off again, "Please, Logan. Just... now!"

I couldn't take it any longer. Her whispered demands and the way she fit around me... I just couldn't hold on. I tucked her close and buried my face in her sweet-smelling hair and surged into her.

I felt her moan more than I heard it. My heart was racing in my ears and I was all sensation as I pistoned in and out of her slick folds. As I sped towards the finish, toward my own ending, I felt her tremble and clench beneath me. Her body begged for my release and I shut my eyes as I gave in again.

As I came down from bliss, I felt her hands smoothing my hair. I smiled, a whole new level of lethargy settling over me. Finally building up enough strength to roll over, I discarded the spent condom, vaguely hoping I made it into the waste basket near my bed.

I expected her to get up to seek the bathroom; she'd always done so in the past. Instead, she threw her arm across my chest and snuggled against me, tangling her legs with mine. I smiled broadly and hugged her close.

"So much for slow and steady," she breathed.

I laughed. My throat was hoarse, and it felt overused, though I couldn't remember saying much. Perhaps I'd been screaming the whole time. The thought made me laugh again.

"I'm glad you came," I murmured, sleeping creeping up on me.

She giggled and I felt the slight heave of her breasts against my ribcage. My cock twitched in response. "You were always talented with that part."

I was momentarily confused. When her meaning dawned on me, I opened my eyes to look down at her. Her own eyes were falling closed already. "I meant here. I meant I'm glad you came up here."

"Oh," she answered sleepily, the answer turning into a yawn. "Me too."

And it wasn't long before I felt her breath even out in sleep. I dozed off as well, feeling more content than I had in years. Perhaps more content than I'd ever been.

When I woke, it was still dark and I was under the blankets. I was shivering despite the comforter, so I reached for Veronica to warm me up. When I couldn't find her in the king size bed, I opened my eyes to look around.

The bed was empty. The scent of her perfume and of our sex still hung in the air, so I knew I hadn't dreamed it. My bedside clock read 3:07. I blinked, trying to focus on the stark numbers. They illuminated the room enough for me to see that her clothes weren't on the floor where we'd tossed them.

Veronica was gone.

I laid back against the pillows. She'd run. She'd left me again. I scrubbed my hand over my eyes, trying to work up some anger. She was gone!

But, I couldn't be mad. I just felt adrift, alone. I rolled away from the clock, toward the wall. It was probably better this way.

Then I heard a strange noise. No, not strange, familiar and mundane. It was the ding of a timer. I sat up and threw my legs out of bed, reaching for my discarded jeans.

Just as I'd shoved one leg into them, my bedroom door swung open. I looked up.

Veronica stood in the doorway, cradling a steaming mug between her hands. She was wearing my button down and it dwarfed her, falling nearly to her knees.

"You're still here!" The words came out before I could think them.

She lifted and eyebrow. "Yes. Is that okay?" She held out her cup. "I woke up, and I was hungry, so I went to the kitchen. The coffee was still in the pot, so I just threw a cup in the microwave. You want?"

I shook my head. I realized I must have been grinning like a fool.

She nodded toward my pants, still half-off. "Going somewhere?"

I looked down at them then back to her. "No. I was just..."

"You thought I left?"

I held her gaze and answered honestly. "Yeah."

Veronica nodded and moved to sit next to me. "I thought of it." She reached up and smoothed my hair away from my forehead. Her hand was warm with the heat of the mug, and it was soothing. "But you just looked too cute sleeping so soundly, I wanted to stick around and see if I couldn't con breakfast out of you."

I picked the mug out her hands and placed it on the nightstand. Pulling her back against the pillows, I kissed her on her forehead. "You'd better reschedule the date for brunch, Mars, 'cause I've got plans for you."

She laughed, and we didn't get out of bed until it was almost time for lunch the next day.

XxX

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